


Just Get The Perfect Blend

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [17]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Diners, F/F, Fluff, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The diner receives a surprise visit from two old friends, one of whom has a lot to say on the Doctor's new face, on Clara, and on the chips...





	Just Get The Perfect Blend

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extension of [this drabble.](http://universe-on-her-shoulders.tumblr.com/post/182896548260/13-and-clara-meet-bill-and-heather-space-gf) Couldn't get the idea out of my head!

 

They aren’t expecting the visit, but when Bill and Heather step over the threshold of the diner, there’s something just indescribably _right_ about their presence. Bill’s hand is held tightly in Heather’s, and there’s a wide smile on her face as she catches sight of the Doctor, who immediately stops wiping down tables and lets out a yell of sheer joy.

“Bill!” she enthuses, half-running and half-falling towards her, dodging and weaving around tables before flinging her arms around her old friend with all the ebullience of a small child. Bill looks somewhat surprised about this development before letting go of her partner and returning the embrace with equal enthusiasm, and Clara exchanges a fondly exasperated look with Heather. 

“I’d like to say she’s not always like this,” Clara says in a teasing tone. “But I’d be lying.” 

“Rude, you love me,” the Doctor turns and pokes her tongue out at her, and Clara laughs. “At least I hope you do.” 

“You know I do.” 

“I still think it’s unfair you get a gorgeous woman and I got the angry stick insect,” Bill says wistfully, patting the Doctor on the back. “I mean, he was a great bloke and all, but Doctor, I don’t know if anyone’s told you this before, but you’re hot.”

“Am I?” the Doctor frowns, stepping away from Bill and pressing a hand to her own forehead. “I feel kind of… ambient, really. Not hot at all.”

“Good god, you’re oblivious,” Clara rolls her eyes at her partner in fond exasperation. “She thinks you’re pretty. That’s what she’s saying.” 

“Oh,” the Doctor’s cheeks burn a fiery shade of maroon, but she looks a tad pleased all the same. “Goodness. I mean. Heather is _right_ there… I’m not… gosh.” 

“She’s just a little star-struck,” Heather says fondly, shaking her head with a loving yet chagrined expression. “I know her heart belongs to me.” 

“Oh, always,” Bill nods emphatically. “I’m just saying, you know, I think in the grand scheme of the universe, I think this is very unfair. In general. Just FYI. For the record.” 

“You ended up with me,” Heather reminds her, nudging her in the side playfully. “Not that unfair.” 

“That’s true,” Bill pretends to think for a minute. “Very, very true…”

“God, you two are cute,” Clara can’t help but smile at the warm, easy affection between the two of them. She’d heard tell of it – the Doctor recalled the words of her saviours as they’d shifted her into the TARDIS before she regenerated – and Clara had felt a rush of warmth towards the women as the Doctor had recounted that tale to her. Now, seeing the deep, inherent sense of understanding that flickers between them, as intimate as anything she’s witnessed before, she feels a rush of pride that Bill Potts was her successor – Bill Potts and her capacity to love so profoundly that she changed the very nature of her own existence. 

“What’s that face for?” the Doctor asks, and Clara blushes at once, ashamed to have been caught so deep in thought. 

“What face?” she asks, busying herself with the till, but she knows the Doctor won’t buy her denial.

“The soppy face.”

“Nothing.” 

“Spill,” Bill chimes in. “Come on, what you giving us the soppy eyes for? Because you two are pretty soppy and all, so I don’t know why you’re directing a look like that at us.” 

“I just…” Clara clears her throat, feeling abruptly self-conscious. “I was just thinking that I’m glad that after I left the Doctor-”

She exchanges a look with the Doctor, who gives a grateful nod at the tactful manner in which Clara has phrased the unfortunate, agonising circumstances of their parting. 

“-he found someone like you to take care of him, because you’re very much what he needed. Bright and optimistic and clever and kind and just… he needed that very much.” 

“It’s nothing,” it’s Bill’s turn now to look embarrassed, and she rubs the back of her neck awkwardly as she drops her gaze to the floor. “I mean, he was just my weird university lecturer… until he wasn’t. And Heather had a lot to do with that, so it’s really her that you should be thanking.”

“You don’t all need to talk about me like I’m not here,” the Doctor interjects. “I’m able to talk for myself, and yes, Clara, you’re right – Bill was exactly what I needed to pull me out of the slump I was in. But between the two of you, and with Heather’s wonderful contribution regarding saving Bill’s life, we’re here now, and frankly Clara, I think we’re being really rude by not offering them something to eat.” 

“Right,” Clara says sheepishly, immediately busying herself with deep fat fryers and bags of chips. She keeps her head down, working feverishly, and it’s not until she’s stood beside the grill, staring down at it vacantly, that she realises the Doctor is stood by her side. 

“Hey,” the Time Lady says quietly. “You seem… pensive.” 

“Do I?” Clara blinks hard a few times, turning to the Doctor and offering her a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Better?” 

“No,” the Doctor slips an arm around her waist. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, it’s just… difficult. Thinking about you hurting the way you were after I… you know.” 

“I know,” the Doctor murmurs. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Clara mumbles, feeling foolish for even allowing herself to slip into this maudlin mood for what feels like the thousandth time. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry.”

“For what?” Clara looks up at her then, her eyes wide and wet with tears. She can’t stand her partner accepting any culpability in this matter – it was her decision, and hers alone, to take the chronolock on Trap Street, and to face the consequences of her actions. “For my stupidity? For my decision? For what I did to that neural block?” 

“Hey,” the Doctor wraps her arms around her, cradling her against her chest as Clara’s arms encircle her and she allows herself to exhale. The Time Lady presses a kiss to her partner’s dark hair, the two of them standing for a moment in companionable silence as they allow their composure to disintegrate in unison, clinging to each other like lifelines as they fight to weather the storms of the past. “I love you.” 

“I know,” Clara whispers into the Time Lady’s chest, sniffing hard and resting her forehead against the Doctor’s shoulder. “I know. I just wish you’d said it a little sooner. We could’ve had-” 

“It doesn’t matter what could have been,” the Doctor reminds her gently, but her tone is firm. “What matters is now. Who we are. What we are now. And you have me forever. You know that, don’t you?” 

“But… River… and…” 

“Clara, you know as well as I do that the heart has no limit on the amount of love it can give.” 

“But…” 

“No buts. Yours. Always yours.” 

Clara smiles then, standing on tiptoes to press a kiss to the Doctor’s lips, before turning her attention back to the grill. Four burgers have appeared from nowhere and are sizzling merrily away on it, and she smiles to herself as the Doctor presses her lips against her neck, reaching around her for a spatula and flipping each burger with meticulous care. 

“Go and sit down,” the Time Lady asserts with confidence, giving her a quick encouraging squeeze around the waist. “I’ve got this.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure. Go and chat to them both.”

Clara nods obediently and goes and takes a seat in the booth that Bill and Heather have ensconced themselves in. They’re talking quietly amongst themselves, their attentions dutifully diverted from the kitchen and the quiet display of intimacy that Clara and Doctor have just shared, and for that Clara feels a rush of gratitude.

There’s a brief pause, and then the Doctor appears, leaning down and setting a tray of drinks in the middle of the table. No orders have been exchanged, so there’s four glass bottles of old-style Coca Cola, four tall glasses of lemonade, and four milkshakes in a range of flavours. Clara looks up at her partner and cocks an eyebrow, but the Time Lady only beams with pride at her seemingly-genius idea. 

“Enjoy,” she trills, before heading back to the kitchen and calling over her shoulder: “Who wants cheese on their burger?”

There’s a unanimous chorus of ‘me!’ before silence falls again, and Clara reaches for a lemonade, leaning forward and sipping it delicately through the straw.

“Can…” Bill looks at her with wide eyes, apparently amazed by this development. “Can you actually eat and drink and stuff?” 

“Of course I can,” Clara shrugs, already well aware that the exact conditions of her immortality are fascinating to others. “I can do anything I like, really, I just sort of… reset at the end of each day. Well, each 24 hours. It’s not necessarily consistent with actual days – I played with that a lot at the beginning.” 

“So like… you could tattoo your face and shave your head and at the 24 hour mark, you’d go back to looking like that?”

“More or less, yes.” 

“Sucks if you fancy an image change.” 

Clara laughs at the mental picture the words conjure up. “A little, yeah.” 

“I’m not complaining, mind,” the Doctor reappears with a tray of food, and sets it down beside the drinks. There’s a veritable cornucopia of chips, four enormous burgers, and then something that looks suspiciously like a half-hearted attempt at a salad, that Clara immediately wants to eat just to put it out of its misery. “She’s very cute, and I don’t think I could acclimatise to any facial tattoos. Not that I’ve got anything against them, you know – the people of Katnida have them, and they’re adorable.”

“I’m not planning on getting any, temporary or otherwise,” Clara reassures her, reaching for a burger with one hand and the sad-looking salad with the other. She shoves several lettuce leaves in her mouth, and chews on them before mumbling: “Don’t you worry.” 

“Good to know,” the Doctor plonks down beside her, grabs a handful of chips and a milkshake, and immediately starts chomping away on five chips at once, table manners going out the window. “Fanks.”

“Hey, you,” Clara chastises her, elbowing her in the side and rolling her eyes in Bill and Heather’s direction. “We have guests, remember? No eating like that. One chip at a time, please. I don’t fancy doing the Heimlich on you.” 

“Nah, you know what? I’m with her,” Bills concurs, grabbing a burger and passing it to Heather, before taking the last remaining one for herself. “The more chips at once the better. This all looks great.” 

“Exac’ly,” the Doctor swallows with some effort, then beams. “This,” she looks down at her strawberry milkshake, slurping on it enthusiastically and watching it wiggle its way through her favourite special straw, which she has produced from… well, Clara knows not where. “Is the life. Like, the proper life. Living the dream.” 

“Kinda gutted I’m not still in the canteen, you know,” Bill teases, surveying the blonde woman with affection. “You’d have loved my chips. We could’ve had a competition.” 

“I don’t know,” Clara muses, tilting her head to the side and grinning fondly at Bill. “I might have a vacancy going, if you’re interested. She’s hopeless with a fryer… most of the time, anyway.” 

“Only one vacancy?” Heather feigns a look of immense hurt, then immediately dissolves into giggles, nudging her partner conspiratorially. “Come on, Bill, I didn’t save you from a fate worse than death so you could spend eternity serving chips.”

“What if the recipient of the chips was really appreciative?” Bill asks, inclining her head towards the Doctor, who is now chowing down on her burger with aplomb. “Like, _really_ appreciative? Cos she totally would be.” 

“Well,” Heather pretends to dither for a moment. “Maybe we could work something out on Sundays...” 


End file.
